


Whatever Love Is

by fleurjaune



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Adrien Agreste Is Sunshine, Demisexuality, Denial of Feelings, F/M, Falling In Love, Feelings Realization, Minor Adrien Agreste/Marinette Dupain-Cheng, Nathalie Sancoeur Does Not Get Paid Enough, Nathalie Sancoeur-centric, POV Second Person, Parent Nathalie Sancoeur, Possibly Unrequited Love, Temporarily Unrequited Love, in Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Ladybug form, kind of, this applies to both the gabenath & the ladynoir tbh, this time Nathalie's the oblivious one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:09:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27917278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fleurjaune/pseuds/fleurjaune
Summary: “Nathalie, have you ever been in love?” Adrien asks.“No.” You tell him.He looks at you quizzically as if you’re not just answering his question.“No. I’ve never been in love.” You clarify.
Relationships: Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir & Nathalie Sancoeur, Gabriel Agreste | Papillon | Hawk Moth/Nathalie Sancoeur
Comments: 18
Kudos: 65





	Whatever Love Is

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not really sure what this one is? Let's call it an experiment.

Adrien isn’t a thing like his father at all.

The look on his face when he’d approached you for help was a completely different expression to when M.Agreste represses the same mixture of hopelessness and frustration, and doesn’t beg your aid, ( _your_ _comfort_ some errant part of your mind whispers and you ignore it), but _your_ reaction had been much the same even though technically you’ve already worked past your work hours, and technically helping Adrien with his homework isn’t actually part of your job description.

(none of this is part of your job description.)

You help him because that’s what you do.

It’s worth it for the bright uncomplicated smile on his face you’ll get when he understands what you’re explaining and he figures out the answer to the question himself.

Only.

He doesn’t.

Instead of smiling Adrien’s brows just relax a little as he jots it down.

He doesn’t thank you and leave either. He just remains sitting there staring at the paper even though he puts his pencil down, rather than continuing.

Then he looks up at you and there’s something considering there.

And _now_ there is some resemblance to his father. There’s something more he wants to say. He came here for more than just help with his maths homework and for some reason he’s holding back from saying it, making _you_ have to start the conversation instead which is completely unfair when it’s not you that wants to have it.

And you can’t imagine what on earth _Adrien_ could be so hesitant about asking. Any request you’d have to turn down about a friend’s party or something might make sense of his behaviour if he was asking his father but while you might shut down his requests you’re not going to tell him off for asking, and for having the sense to ask you having than going directly to his father. There’s no need to be this nervous.

So you ask anyway despite yourself, “Is something wrong?”

It’s a stupid question when _everything Is wrong here_ beginning with the fact you’re the one asking instead of one of his parents, but you don’t have anything more to offer than trite clichés. This sort of thing has never been your strongpoint. There’s a reason why you’d risked physical affection when comforting his father because you’d had no idea what to say to make it better (not that anything _could_ have made it better.)

“What does it feel like when you’re in love with someone?”

Oh no. No. Nope. _No_. Why _._ Adrien _no._

 _This_ is so not your role.

You’re not his parent. Or his aunt. Or any member of his family. Or even his nanny. You’re just his father’s assistant. _Why is he asking you this?_

Because his mother’s gone, and his father might as well be so lost in his attempts to get her back, and you abet the latter instead of clearing space free from his actual work ( _your_ actual job) for him to spend with Adrien so you probably deserve this.

(Or do you? Because he’d never listen to you on that subject anyway so isn’t all you’re doing by helping him just ensuring that he doesn’t get caught? That Adrien doesn’t lose two parents in truth?)

(Hasn’t he already?)

(How would _you_ know anyway?)

“I’m not sure that’s something I should discuss with you,” you point out hoping against hope it will work, “perhaps you should ask your father.”

It doesn’t work.

“ _Nathalie,”_ Adrien whines and he might be the politest teenager you’ve ever met, (unearned pride fills you at that), but he’s still a teenager, “You know he’s never around. And it’s not like I could discuss it with him anyway.”

His first jab hits but his second, “Why not?”

“He wouldn’t understand. And, can you imagine, he’d just look down at me and probably tell me I should focus on my schoolwork or something.”

“Well I think you should focus on your schoolwork.”

He’s only young. Whatever he’s feeling it can’t be _love_ surely. You’d never really believed in those schoolyard romances you’d seen at college or even lycée. They’d always struck you as performative because it’s not like you can want a life together when you’re too young to even choose your baccalaureate subjects. You’d never understood the people crushing on each other and why they bothered pretending because whatever they were feeling you certainly didn’t feel any of it.

You’d understood wanting it for the status it gave you but Adrien is good-looking, rich, famous, and somehow kind despite it, he already has status aplenty. He doesn’t need to date until you’ve won and got his mother back and _she_ can deal with all of this. 

“But I _can’t._ Not with all of this distracting me.”

“The question of what love feels like? Why?” _deflect deflect deflect_ “Do you like someone?”

“She’s amazing.” Adrien rests his head on his hands and looks dreamily into the middle distance, “But she doesn’t believe that I’m serious about her. But I _am._ I love her. I’m sure I do.”

“It doesn’t sound like you need that question answering then.”

“But what if she’s _right,_ what if I just like her, and I’m jumping at the first person I can be me with?”

That gives you pause. Adrien’s parents had both always raised him strictly for all his mother had always left it to his father to be the one to actually enforce the rules, but you can't say you’ve ever thought there was a different Adrien waiting to come out. Wanting more downtime or to go out with friends isn't a personality-even _you’ve been_ known to want that. Once in a blue moon.

So what does he mean? What is he _doing?_ Who’s he doing it with?

“What do you mean you can be you with her?”

Asking the question makes a mockery of your panic because the answer is obvious.

Everyone puts on some sort of front with other people. You certainly do; not that you ever take it off. And _that’s_ something you can understand wanting to be in a relationship for. You’d always been jealous of how M.Agreste and his wife had relaxed around each other, no longer needing the faces they’d put on for the world.

(They'd not dropped them around Adrien.)

“Um, forget that, and don’t tell my father?”

“I've no plan to tell your father about any of this conversation.”

That there are some things that man is better off not knowing is not a mantra that's ever let you down yet, and for all that this is a conversation that he _should_ be having with his son you know he won't thank you for saying that. No encouraging Gabriel to talk to his son about romance is a tricky subject you’re going to have to introduce carefully and gently without him realising you’re doing it.

“But how do you tell? If you love someone or just like them?”

“I”, actually maybe you should go and pull him here by force because he ~~was~~ is married, while you are totally unqualified for this conversation, “guess you just know.”

It’s a weak answer, and you know it, but the answer is that you have absolutely no idea. How could you?

Unfortunately Adrien sees through it. “Nathalie, have you ever been in love?”

You must fail to keep how stupid a question that is in your opinion off your face at because his eyes widen in panic and he suddenly backpedals and says, “Sorry, you don’t have to answer that.”

But _why would he ask you that in the first place?_

He’s sheltered. He’s no basis for comparison. He only sees you working. He might not notice that you’ve never had that reaction to any man (or woman) that romantic books and films describe so vividly. That you’re honestly happy alone and when you think about being in a relationship it’s always about how much _easier_ and cheaper it would be because the world’s set up for couples not for eternal singletons.

Maybe it _doesn’t_ seem a ridiculous question to Adrien.

But surely even _he_ must have some idea of your lack with relationship. Does he really think a boyfriend would let you work the hours you do?

(The probably illegal hours you do. But then is what you’re doing now working?)

(It has to be. Because if it’s not then it’s something that isn’t yours to claim and that his father would probably fire you for, or not since he needs ~~you~~ Mayura, but yell at you for thinking of anyway)

Still you might as well give him the easy answer instead of this lacking silence that might give him who knows what idea. It might stop the topic coming up again. “No.”

He looks at you quizzically as if you’re not just answering his question.

“No. I’ve never been in love.” You clarify.

“What?” And you don’t understand why this seems to upset him, “ _Never?_ ”

“I’m not really that sort of person.”

“Why not?”

“What?”

“Why aren’t you that type of person?”

“I’m just not.” You say because you can’t say to _Adrien_ that you’re not even sure what attraction feels like never mind _love._

“Are you sure you don’t like someone?”

That’s a different question. Like is a downgrade and even though you know he doesn’t mean it on a friend level (which honestly, still only kind of), you can maybe admit that you might have liked someone in a non-platonic way. In the past.

* * *

You’d met him at work. This isn’t a surprise. It’s not like there’s anywhere _else_ you might meet someone really.

But it’s still unusual for anyone to pay attention to _you._ You’re just wallpaper to most people. A cog that keeps this whole machine running. A vital one, but not one that’s on the side the public see.

And your conversation with the graphic designer you’ve brought back M.Agreste’s feedback on the upcoming ad campaign is… _pleasant._ It’s pleasant, and he’s noticing you, and he’s joking with you in the way usually you see straight men act with the models.

So you’re almost not surprised when he says, “Would you like to go for a drink later?”

“Sure,” you say, “What time?”

Do you like him? You’re not sure. 

But he seems nice, and objectively he’s decent looking, and it seems silly to turn him down when you’ve been wondering if maybe you should actually _try_ and date some time, and here you’ve been offered a chance that doesn’t include braving the hell of internet dating.

* * *

It’s nice at the restaurant as well, and you can feel the warmth emanating from his leg next to yours, and you think you could let him kiss you if he wanted and maybe _this_ is what attraction is?

* * *

“I’ve liked people, but nothing serious.” You say to Adrien despite the discomfort squirming in your stomach at divulging even that to him. You should probably just tell him this whole conversation is inappropriate.

His brows crease in concentration like this is a difficult scientific idea he’s trying to understand, “How did you know it wasn’t serious?”

* * *

You’re kissing him on his couch, and this is happening, and it’s…certainly happening.

You like that he wants you, and you like his hands pulling you in against him, and the position you’ve ended up, with but the actual kissing is just wet, and not unpleasant exactly, but you certainly don’t get the hype.

You let things continue anyway, and the longer it goes on, the further you go the more you think _this?_ This is what everyone goes crazy about?

He’s the one to put a stop to it.

“I think we’re just frustrating each other,” he says.

* * *

“Trust me. You know.” You can’t keep the dryness out of your voice, “So I’d assume you’d know the opposite.”

You’re ready to remind him that he has other homework to do when he says, “ _I_ think it’s serious. Me and the girl I like.”

At least he’s not asking about you anymore.

That dreamy look is back in his eyes, and he says, “just being with her, it makes me smile,”

* * *

“You know the plan?” Hawkmoth asks.

“Of course,” you say smirking, and maybe that’s bold for _Nathalie_ but you’re not Nathalie right now, and Mayura is someone different, someone bolder, and someone more flamboyant.

He fixes the curl at the side of your hair, and you hadn’t noticed it was out of place, then he smiles and says, “I have every faith you’ll be wonderful.”

You find yourself smiling back.

* * *

“And I want to impress her so badly I sometimes make a fool out of myself,” He looks straight at you, and you have to work to still meet his eyes.

* * *

He calls your plan brilliant, and despite the overriding worry in his eyes you can see that he means it.

 _Gabriel Agreste,_ a man who’s as stingy with his compliments as he is with his time, and who’s built an empire out of nothing, thinks _something you’ve done is_ brilliant.

That doesn’t happen.

Then he tells you that he can’t let you get hurt. He _worries_ over you like you’re someone he cares about (like you’re his wife).

That doesn’t happen either.

The whole of Paris can testify to how little Hawkmoth cares about anyone getting harmed.

You’re not sure why he thinks any of this will make you stop.

* * *

Adrien makes a face, “I _do_ make a fool of myself.”

* * *

“You’re still here,” he says emerging from his lair. “Shouldn’t you be gone by now?”

As if it would have been safe to leave him unguarded, and as if there wasn’t too much work to do anyway, even if the sun went down hours ago, and you don’t relish the thought of the metro this late at night.

You shrug.

He leans over to look at your screen and you try to remember when you became someone he no longer maintained his usual box of personal space with.

As Gabriel that is.

He never has as Hawkmoth.

And for some reason you’d never thought that odd. It had seemed right somehow.

His hand tightens on your desk, and if he was still Hawkmoth you think it would break.

“The show.” He says, “I forgot.”

“Sir,” you interrupt.

He swears, and leaves your desk to pace out his frustration “I’m going to be joke with a full collection and no venue for fashion week, and how can I explain to the board, explain to _everyone,_ why I didn’t send the bloody confirmation forms.”

“Sir, I’ve done it.”

He stops. “But my signature,”

“I forged it.” You admit, fairly certain he won’t be bothered, you’d done it before, in the immediate aftermath. Plus in the scale of illegality of things you’ve done you don’t think it’s this that’s going to get you in trouble.

The stress drains from him, “Nathalie you’re a wonder.”

He pulls you upright, and you think for a moment that if he still had his enhanced strength he’d spin you round in celebration, but instead his one of his hands moves up to cup your face, “I’d be lost without you.”

You don’t have any answer for that and you just step back, “I should go.”

He glances out the window of the Atelier into the dark outside, “It’s late.”

“Exactly.”

“You could stay here tonight. It’s the least I can do.”

“I could stay here tonight?” Even you aren’t sure if you’re agreeing or questioning what on earth he’s doing.

He reaches out for your hand and you let him take it, “Nathalie. Stay.”

* * *

“Which sucks because she’s amazing, I mean her _mind,_ ”

* * *

Just because you work in fashion doesn’t mean you’re actually that interested in the trends that come and go. You have you own professional (appropriate) (boring) style that works just fine.

And half the things M.Agreste sends down the catwalk you’d never want to wear in the slightest. And the rest are nice but too expensive for you to consider.

But every so often there’s something special.

Like the dress on this mannequin.

You follow the swirls of navy and white around trying to work out how it’s constructed.

“Do you like it?” Gabriel’s voice startles you from behind. He sounds amused, “I thought it would be a bit much for your usual taste.”

Maybe as something for you to wear but, “It’s a piece of art.” You breathe out, “It should be in the Louvre.”

* * *

“She _always_ finds a way, even when it seems impossible.”

* * *

You open the door to the Atelier with dread expecting another day with M.Agreste barely making an appearance, barely able to convince himself out of bed.

And you know that you’re being unfair, that you have no point of comparison for something like this, that you’ve never lost anyone you loved, and who loved you (and if that’s what love is you don’t want it), but so many other people’s jobs ( _your job)_ depend on him.

(and you worry about him, for _him,_ because you’ve worked for him for longer than any friendship or relationship you’ve had and you miss the man he was.)

But he’s there. At his screen. Looking normal.

“Good morning sir,” you say startled and _that was stupid_ because no morning is going to be good for him.

“Ah. Nathalie.” He says, “I apologise for my absence I’ve been,” he comes to a halt.

“I know sir,” you release him from needing to say it. “I know.”

“I’ve come to a decision.” He continues as if he never stopped. “I’ve saving her. I will of course need to rely on your discretion.”

“Of course sir,” you say jumping on any chance to fix things.

* * *

“And I’d do anything for her.”

* * *

You don’t hesitate putting the Peacock Miraculous one.

How can you?

There’s no other choice.

If you don’t then-Gabriel exposed, _you_ implicated, Adrien abandoned.

_No._

One use will be fine. It’s better than the alternative.

* * *

“I’ve,” he stumbles in his impassioned speech, “I’d _die_ for her.”

* * *

You read that sentence again. _A price._ The wish has a cost.

Does Gabriel _know?_

Does Gabriel _care?_

Does Gabriel actually think about it, about what he’d be doing, about what he’s making himself into?

You want to save him from himself but, those words snag in your head again. _An equal cost._

You’re not Emilie’s equal, on any comparative you come up lacking, but is the wish that precise?

Could it just be a life for a life?

And it _can’t_ be Adrien. You couldn’t let that happen to him or Gabriel.

So.

You wouldn’t mind that much if it was you. You’re exhausted, and everything hurts, and you think that if you could just _know_ that you’d won and she’d make her husband and son happy it wouldn’t be so bad at all to just disappear out of existence.

(It’s not like there’s anyone to miss you the way Gabriel misses Emilie.)

* * *

“And she does care for me,” but despite the positivity of that statement a shadow crosses his face, and you want to lift it from him.

* * *

You’re coughing so hard it doesn’t feel like there’s any more air in your lungs to cough up and you feel like you’re going to collapse, and you _are_ going to, until Hawkmoth’s arms come under you in support and it all feels more manageable.

And then you’re not Catalyst and he’s not Hawkmoth, and your chance for the most powerful combination of akumas you’ve had is _gone_ all because of you.

Because he’s worried about you.

* * *

Adrien sighs, “but she likes someone _else._ ”

* * *

Gabriel stares up at Emilie’s portrait, “I can’t give her up Nathalie, I miss her too much.”

You say you understand because you _do._

It’s obvious to you every single day how much he misses his wife, and how he’s a shell of the man he was with her.

And _yet_ , everything he’s doing. It’s not making things better, it’s making things worse, and you’d really thought that maybe he would give up this time, and he’d move on, and he’d be able to put himself back together, and rebuild things with Adrien.

But no.

He can’t let go of Emilie and you respect that but you also want to either scream or slump to the floor.

* * *

Adrien ends his impassioned speech, and you try and not let him know that you feel like you’re going to throw up. There’s a pressure behind your wisdom teeth, or in your sinuses, or somewhere behind your face and you don’t know if it’s from the damage you’ve been inflicting on yourself or a physical expression of your sudden realisation.

“I think it does sound like you’re in love.” You say.

(You think it sounds like _you’re_ in love)

(You don’t understand how or when or why)

“But what do I _do_?”

“I don’t know.” You mean that for both of you. “I don’t know what you _can_ do. I think you just have to go on. I don’t suppose, you couldn’t stop hanging out with her for a while? Maybe distance will make your feelings fade?”

“I _can’t,”_ he says, oddly impassioned (or _not_ oddly because he’s in love isn’t he?).

* * *

You try to type out your resignation letter after you argue over Adrien again, and he dismisses you as if you’re just his assistant.

(Which you are.)

As if you don’t parent Adrien more than him. As if you aren’t the only thing that’s made any difference to Hawkmoth’s chance of winning. As if his company wouldn’t have collapsed without you.

“Nathalie,”

You look up to her portrait in surprise to find he’s appeared back here. He must have just gone to brood over his wife ~~’s body~~ rather than send out an akuma.

He meets your eyes. “I’m sorry.”

You close the Word document without saving.

* * *

“And I don’t want to lose my feelings for her, I just wish she returned them.”

You do. You want to lose this knowledge he’s thrust upon you, but you can’t tell him that so instead you say, “You can’t make that happen. It doesn’t work like that. Some people, they’re never going to love you back and all you can do is accept it.”

“I know,” Adrien sighs, “You know you really sounded like you knew what you were talking about just then for someone that doesn’t like anyone.”

Fleeing this house and never coming back sounds like a fantastic plan right now.

“Adrien,” you warn him, but it _doesn’t work,_ and you’ve spent years telling him what to do he _should_ listen to you.

Instead he looks up at you earnestly, and says, “You know, I don’t think you need to worry and pretend it’s not happening. I think he’s closer to returning your feelings than you think.”

Fleeing definitely sounds like a good plan, and you take a step back. “I don’t know what you’ve taking about.”

Mercifully he holds his hands up in surrender, “Alright then but Nathalie, think about it?”

Thinking about it is the absolute last thing you want to do.

“Please just forget this entire conversation. I shouldn’t have had it with you anyway.”

“I’m glad you did,” his hand goes to the back of his neck sheepishly, “You know whatever happens you’re a part of my family anyway right?”

Warmth blossoms in your chest, and you might not want to be (might not want to admit you already are) _in love,_ with someone, but _familial_ love perhaps you might understand that, and perhaps you’re ready to admit to that much, “Thank you Adrien. I know I’m not,” ~~your mother,~~ ~~soft~~ , ~~caring~~ , “good at showing it but I do care for you a lot.”

“I know.” He smiles.

You can’t help but mirror him.


End file.
